


A Perfect Bouquet

by insertcleveruserhere



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Awkward Flirting, Awkwardness, Blushing Alistair (Dragon Age), Coffee Shops, Drinking, Emotional Baggage, Eventual Smut, F/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Relationship(s), Rating May Change, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-10
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:54:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26382961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/insertcleveruserhere/pseuds/insertcleveruserhere
Summary: Alistair didn'twantto work in a miserable law office for the rest of his life, pushing paperwork and being the only "class clown" brave enough to actually attempt to have fun - as if that were against the law. He hates it, hates the weight and expectations that come with his name, with his stupid job, and just wants to start over.Enter Cullen's request.
Relationships: Alistair/Female Warden (Dragon Age), Alistair/Warden (Dragon Age), Minor Cullen Rutherford/Female Inquisitor, Minor Fenris/Male Hawke
Comments: 6
Kudos: 13





	1. Alistair

Alistair had never, not in all twenty-four years of his life, purchased flowers from a real, legitimate flower shop. He had, in fact, gotten a bouquet from Wal-Mart for 6.97 once, but that was just so he could spruce up his apartment. They’d died within two days, after the bright blue dye seeped into the water, leaving a sad, blue mess on his kitchen counter. 

Regardless of his limited experience with plants, he needed a bouquet, and Cullen had specifically requested “something nice, _please _”. He’d made a point to enunciate that ‘please’, like Alistair could possibly manage to muck up a flower order.__

__But, upon entering the flower shop, adorably named “Andraste’s Grace” - Alistair was pretty sure that that was a flower, and even if it wasn’t, it was certain to draw the attention of some of the more...religious folk of Denerim - he knew he was in trouble._ _

__The door opens with a little chime, and Alistair is suddenly struck by how out of his depth he really is. There are little gifts and knick-knacks everywhere, and significantly fewer Andrastian items than the name implied. Something he doesn’t recognize plays from a speaker behind the front counter, which means that it isn’t Chantry songs or the songs that play on the radio._ _

__He didn’t even know why Cullen wanted the blasted bouquet, or why he couldn’t just go get it himself, but when Cullen put on his “grownup” voice, Alistair knew better than to try and argue with him._ _

__“Just one moment!” A woman calls from the back room, and he thinks of calling something back. Instead, he stuffs his hands in his pockets and looks at the display of greeting cards, varying from sweet and sentimental to corny and humorous. He pulls one hand from his pocket so he can tilt the card display around so he could look at some more of the funny ones._ _

__He learns the hard way that the display does not, in fact, twist around._ _

__“Oh, Maker - fu - Maker’s Breath, no, no - .” He manages to catch the wire frame, but a majority of the cards spill out onto the tile. He’s blushing, eyes wide as the woman steps back into the room, catching him as he feebly tries to catch the card rack._ _

__He’s clutching a couple of the cards to his chest, and of course, he has to think of how pretty the woman behind the counter is._ _

__He’s certainly expecting her to laugh at him - she’s gorgeous, certainly out of his league. Dark hair barely loosely held on the back of her head frames sharp cheekbones and a defined jawline - honestly, she looks like the sort of women from Ferelden’s Next Top Model, who strut down the runway with angry looks on their face - not that Alistair watches that, of course._ _

__She doesn’t even say anything to the humiliating sight, much to Alistair’s eternal embarrassment. She just steps around the counter, helping him pick up the wire frame before kneeling down to pick up the rest of the cards._ _

__“I am so, so sorry - I didn’t meant to - honestly, I thought it spun!” He says, kneeling with her, plucking up the cards as quickly as he can. His cheeks are burning - Maker, is it hot in here? - and his palms are sweating, and he’s worried about getting the cards wet, because how is she going to sell wet cards?_ _

__“It’s alright.” She promises, giving him a kind smile, “It honestly happens more often than you think. I should probably invest in a spinning card display, huh?” She stands after they’ve managed to gather all of the cards up, and he scurries to his feet, holding most of them against his chest, “You can leave them on the counter there, I can put them away.”_ _

__She sets down her stack of cards, nice and neat and uniform, and Alistair tries to do the same, but it’s just a messy stack; he manages to drop one more of the cards, and leans down to get it while she’s stepping back around the counter._ _

__“Were you looking for a birthday card today, love?” She asks casually, leaning forward on the counter, still giving him that kind smile - he was still waiting for her to laugh at him, for the jokes to roll out, but he figured that it was her job to make sure he left this place a good review on Yelp._ _

__“Oh, uh, no, sorry, actually.” He places the last card back on the stack clearing his throat, “Sorry about that, again, um...I’m here for a bouquet of flowers?”_ _

__She nods, “Did you place an order or are you looking to get some now? We have a couple of options here, some pre-assembled and some I can whip up now.”_ _

__Alistair nods, then realizes he needs to actually answer her, “I was hoping that you had,” he looks down at the note Cullen scrawled out for him, “Crystal Grace, roses, and Prophet’s lorel - Laurel, Laurel, sorry.”_ _

__She hums, paging through a little book, and Alistair isn’t quite sure if it’s a ledger or a steamy erotica, “I can have that ready for you on Thursday,” it was Tuesday now, “I’m fresh out of Prophet’s Laurel, but it won’t be a problem.” She smiles at him again, and he just nods. “I'll call ahead when it's ready...red roses?” He doesn’t quite get that it’s a question at first, but he nods after a moment, “It’ll be a lovely bouquet - it’ll put you at seventy-three silvers, plus an additional ten if you want a vase.”_ _

__Alistair almost balks at how expensive a little bundle of flowers was going to be, but reminds himself that this was Cullen’s money and that he was just playing the errand boy, “Yeah, thank you so much. Do I pay now, or…?”_ _

__“Yes, um…” She runs a hand through her hair, and he pays with the sovereign Cullen gave him, opting to go ahead to get the vase, “I’ll get your name and phone number so I can call when it’s ready?” She smiles sweetly, and Alistair wants to know her name._ _

__He should just give her Cullen’s information, but he’s so dumbstruck by how pretty he is that he gives her his first name and all ten digits of his personal phone number. He wanted to come back on Thursday regardless._ _

__She gets out an adorable card cut from stationery, and writes something on the back, “If you have any question in the meantime, don’t hesitate to give us a call.” She smiles at him again, and he just nods dumbly, apologizing for the card mishap all over again. He waves her off, then waves again when he reaches the door, even though she’s focusing on cleaning up the cards by the time he’s even pulling it open._ _

__He groans when he steps outside. He should be used to being embarrassed by now - honestly, it was more like a perpetual state of being. He just needed to learn how to resign himself to this fate, rather than getting that stupid, twisting feeling in his gut every time he acted like a twit._ _

__He turns the little card over in his hand, looking it over._ _


	2. Daphne

“I’m serious, he came in, made a mess of the card rack, and stammered through his order.” Daphne recounts through Leliana’s giggles, “Oh, he was actually quite sweet, though - definitely not even close to being the worst customer of the day. This half-drunk bloke staggered in not too long after him, and bought up all of those little Orlesian toys you put out.” Daph runs a hand through her hair, taking a gulp of wine, “I dunno, but regardless, yes, I did give the clumsy one my personal number and not the store’s because I was too busy admiring his ‘chiseled hero look’.” 

Leliana only laughs harder, pouring them both another glass of wine, almost spilling her own as she rolls around on the old sofa, “How very in character - tell me, was he very pretty?” She teases, leaning forward some, tucking her feet under her thighs, “Did you get his name? How tall was he?” 

Daphne rolls her eyes, and she regrets telling Leliana about the handsome stranger that placed the order for the most perfect bouquet she’d ever had cross her counter. Instead of answering any of her questions, she takes the bottle from Leliana and topping her glass off the rest of the way, “This wine is good, where’d you get it?” 

She only rolls her eyes and takes the bottle back, setting it on the coffee table, “Oh, you can’t start talking about your mysteriously dashing klutz and _not_ give me all the interesting details.” Daphne feels a tug of disappointment in her chest. There were no interesting details to give to Leliana - nothing had happened. He walked in, he knocked the card rack over, and she gave him the wrong phone number because she thought he was attractive. It wasn’t exactly the most promising way to meet someone, and she wasn’t going to assume that the interest had been mutual. 

Daphne takes a long pull of her wine, getting up and readjusting the robe that covered her pajamas, looking away from Leliana so she didn’t have to look at her while she lied to her, “I certainly can, and I will, considering I don’t - no, don’t get your hopes up, I don't know his name, Leliana. I don’t know anything about him! And he was buying the most beautiful bouquet - he just casually spent eighty silvers on these flowers.” She must have that stupid, dreamy look on her face as she pretends to busy herself by the television, because Leliana asks her again for any and all details. 

She was lying to Leliana, of course. 

She knew his name - it was Alistair, and he’d given it to her with his phone number, so she could contact him when his bouquet was finished on Thursday. She was still half-convinced that ‘Alistair’ had to be an alias or a fake name, because it just sounded so...knightly. But, he had been blushing and stammering throughout the whole transaction, and she didn’t think that was lying. He looked like an Alistair, though, with reddish blonde hair and a sharp jawline that went on for miles - he hadn’t looked knightly when he was scrambling to pick up those cards, though. He looked horrified, like he’d gravely offended her by causing a little manageable mess. 

“Sounds like he was absolutely dreamy.” Leliana pulls a pillow into her lap, arms around it, smiling up at her friend, “At least tell me, was he tall?”

Living with Leliana was simultaneously the most wonderful blessing and the biggest headache in all of Ferelden. She was an excellent interior decorator and a wonderful cook, and she had the biggest heart, and cared about Daphne to no end, but sometimes she just cared a little too much about the things she did - or, more often, the things that she didn’t do. 

"He was _taken_." Daphne clarifies, not wanting to humor any fantasies of matchmaking Leliana might be having, "You of all people know that working in a flower and gift shop isn't exactly the most reliable way to meet new people. The only people who come in to buy flowers are either looking for a bouquet for their partners, or for themselves so they can feel like they have a partner to get them flowers.” Barkspawn is having an interesting dream on his bed, running as he lays down, as if he were chasing something. Daph takes a moment to smile over to him, pushing a strand of hair from her face.

Daphne had never really intended on becoming a florist, or co-owning the shop with her former college roommate turned a real adult roommate. People often assumed that Leliana and Daphne were either dating, or that they were sisters; of course, they were neither, not for any lack of trying on Leliana’s part. The redhead flirted with anything with a pulse - Daphne was a little more selective when it came to handing over her heart, strings attached, and Leliana, though one of her dearest friends, just didn’t attract her _like that_.

It felt so school-girlish when she thought of things like that - she didn’t have a crush on Leliana. Maker, she hadn’t had a crush on anyone in a long while. 

“Oh, you don’t know that.” Leliana waves her off, as if it were really that simple, and Daphne turns to face her, then sighs as she sits back down, “You’re just being cynical - I think that you’re afraid of him.” 

Daphne chokes on the sip of wine she’d taken as she was getting comfortable on the sofa again, brow knitting together as she coughs, shaking her head, “Why would I possibly be afraid of him?”

Leliana takes a drink, as if biding her time, and answers, “Perhaps not of your clumsy knight specifically, but you certainly have some...intimacy issues, Daphne.”

“What I have is a half empty glass that needs to be refilled.” She deflects, rolling her eyes some. She didn’t understand why Leliana felt the need to constantly push romance her way. Daph was a romantic at heart, she knew that, but she was perfectly content with her roommate and her job and her dog; she wasn’t actively looking for a relationship right now, and she definitely didn’t want to rush into anything without pausing to figure out which way was up. 

Maker, if Fergus could see her now…

She smiles to herself, the tip of her index finger tracing the rim of her glass. Fergus would definitely make fun of her, ask her where that ‘have fun, take names later’ mentality went. She’d just sneer at him, and crack some joke about how not everyone was cut out for the wife and kid route, and he’d just laugh, but they both knew it was because wit was never Fergus’ strong suit and he couldn’t think of anything to retort with. 

She should probably go back to Highever soon. Then, she frowns, as if the reason she left at all was just now dawning on her. 

“I’m cutting you off.” Leliana says, breaking her from her trance, “I always forget that wine makes you the teary sort of drunk.” 

Daphne waves her off, even though she does feel like she’s on the verge of tears now, “I’m fine, I’m fine.” She takes a deep breath, looking down at her now-drained glass, and Barkspawn lifts his head, looking at the pair of them. Daphne Cousland did not cry - she wouldn't. She blinks, willing the tears away, trying to forget about all of the stupid, painful shit. 

Daphne didn’t want the conversation to deviate from the handsome stranger to any of her own baggage, so she does the only thing she can to appease Leliana. 

“He _was_ rather tall.”


	3. Alistair

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Take a shot every time the word "stupid" or "beautiful" is written. 
> 
> (Hope you enjoy the chapter!!)

Natural disasters weren’t often something on Alistair’s mind. Denerim wasn’t near any fault lines, and outside of the occasional storm blown in from the Marches or the Coast, it was generally an almost obnoxiously picturesque slum. It wasn’t like he was necessarily complaining about the smog or the gentrification or the poorly maintained housing - well, maybe he was complaining about all of those things. The biggest thing on his mind, though, was that picturesque-ness...ness, of it all. 

This place was far too shitty to look so pretty. 

But, every now again, Alistair happened upon something that reminded him that things weren’t all so bad in Ferelden - that he was allowed to look at pretty things and enjoy the way they look, in spite of the fact that everything had a habit of going bad, very quickly. He quite liked looking at things - the rose he found and preserved from Lothering, for one. Lothering had long fallen on hard times, and it was so…important for Alistair to find something so beautiful. He still had that rose, somewhere. 

His mother’s necklace had been beautiful too, but he’d wrecked that, in one stupid, blind moment of rage. He hadn’t even meant it - thirty seconds of anger had led to his lifetime of regret. 

But, as the saying goes, the show must go on, and he had to learn to appreciate things as they were, or he was bound to go mad. 

He was quite partial to flowers, even going so far as to buy a book called “Flora of Northern Ferelden” that was pretty informative, but he didn’t exactly have much time to go flower picking. He didn’t have much experience with actual, physical flowers, and the closest he’d ever come to having a garden was that stupid bundle of dyed blue Wal-Mart flowers. He hadn’t even had a chance to read through the whole thing because he just didn’t seem to have the time - so, for now, instead of spending his afternoons in fields of flowers and listening to bard music or something, he was cursed to spend his days in a miserable law office, pushing papers around and running useless errands for Cullen and his employers. 

It wasn’t too bad - there were certainly worse people to work with than Cullen, for starters. But, Alistair was more on the...excitable golden retriever side of existence, which he was well aware of. Cullen, on the other hand, was more akin to a socially constipated ogre. Alistair knew this was why Cullen had sent him to place the order of flowers, and why he was sending him again to pick them up. He just wanted to know who these flowers were for - he saw letters to and from someone named “Mia”, but Cullen had gruffly pushed any notion of Mia being a lover or friend, and Alistair just barely managed to pry out that Mia was, in fact, his sister. 

They could very well be for her, for a birthday or some holiday Alistair had forgotten he needed to celebrate, but it didn’t add up - why would Cullen need him to pick up flowers for his sister? It was too convoluted and standoffish, even for Cullen. The only logical answer was that he _did_ have a lover, but was just too shut off from the rest of the world to actually remember to mention it. 

Alistair suddenly cringes, hands tightening at 10 and 2 on his steering wheel, narrowing his eyes some, mostly at himself. He remembers his last visit to this flower shop, how he’d pushed that postcard rack around and made a mess of everything. He doesn’t quite groan - he’s over it, mostly - but he’s more embarrassed that he did it in front of such a pretty girl. She’d been absolutely stunning, and he wouldn’t mind seeing her again, but a little part of him hopes that someone else is behind that counter instead of her. He hated facing up to stupid shit he did. 

He still had that little stationery card she’d given him - there was absolutely no way that a woman like that was single, or, if she was, there was no way she’d want to be with him. He mentally kicks himself, knowing damn well that he shouldn’t think so poorly of himself, but it was pretty much true. 

She’d written the phone number to the shop, opposite the side where all the business’ information was. As he parks across from Andraste’s Grace, he pulls out the little card, looking it over. Furrowing his brow, he realizes that the number on the front and the one on the back were very, very different. 

Beneath the number she’d written in blue ink, she’d signed it “Daphne <3”, which was inherently an attractive name - Alistair didn’t make the rules, he just had common sense. He does groan this time, feeling like a stupid school boy, gazing from inside the schoolhouse while she minded her own business, probably...he didn’t know, playing at recess or something. It was a stupid analogy anyway. 

Did she give him her personal number? He wets his lips, turning the card over a couple more times, just for good measure, then yelps a bit when his phone starts to ring, startling him out of his stupor. 

He blinks, picking up the beat up old phone he’d had for as long as smartphones had been a thing, and answers, without checking the caller ID, “Hello?” He hopes he doesn’t sound startled or stupid. 

“Hello, Alistair? I’m calling about your bouquet - it’s ready for pickup in Andraste’s Grace.” Alistair frowns - it wasn’t the same woman he’d spoken to when he ordered the bouquet. He didn’t know why he was so disappointed, but he does feel dumb for not remembering that Daphne had told him they would call when the flowers were ready for pickup. 

“Yeah! Yeah, this is me - I was actually just one my way in, thanks for the call.” He was literally parked right out front the shop, and now he was debating whether or not it would be weird if he just strolled in like they hadn’t called him thirty seconds prior. 

The woman on the phone had a pretty Orlesian accent, and he can practically hear her smile over the phone, “Wonderful, we’ll see you in a moment then.”

That “we” catches him up a moment. It’s definitely a common phrase, in business-y businesses, but he’s startled by the tinge of hope he feels at the prospect of seeing Daphne again. 

He really should’ve realized that he was putting in a bit more effort than usual now. He was wearing a proper button up and a tie, new-ish jeans and his shoes that had...minimal scuff marks. He’d even splashed on a bit of the cologne Duncan gifted him, and combed through his hair. He looked presentable, at the very least, like he was trying to make a good impression on his first prom date. That was a better analogy than the schoolyard bit, at least. 

He sighs, swallowing his pride and pulling the keys from the ignition, heading inside. He makes a mental note to definitely not touch anything. 

Much to his eternal disappointment, there’s a redheaded lady behind the counter instead of Daphne. Alistair, pretending like everything was fine and that he was fine, looks over some of the little Orlesian knick knacks on the shelves, confirming his suspicions that Daphne herself was probably at least a little Orlesian - she’d had the prettiest Fereldan accent, though, so she must’ve been born and raised. 

He tries not to think too much about her, or about how the stars wouldn’t be aligning for him any time soon, or how… 

“Can I help you find anything, sir?” The Orlesian asks, approaching him, stepping around the counter. She’s got a sweet smile, and Alistair is struck by how many blindingly beautiful women work here. 

“Oh, um,” He fumbles, “I’m here to pick up an order of flowers, I think Daphne placed it?” He couldn’t be more obvious - he wanted to know if she was here. 

The redhead has a telling smirk, and she looks him up and down, “Of course! You must be Alistair?” She asks, and Alistair wonders if she can see right through him - he remembered hearing a rumor that Orlesians could read mind, but at the time, he’d just thought it to be a rumor. With his heart racing and palms sweating, though, he was worried that it might be more than a rumor. 

“Yes, thank you.” Alistair answers instead, voice only a little strained, and the lady bustles around the shop. 

She’s lithe and slender, and looks like she’s plotting something, but instead, she says in a voice that rivals a songbird’s, “Daphne and I are co-owners of this little gift shop - she calls it our little slice of Ferelden.” 

Alistair has both hands stuffed in his pockets as he follows her to the counter, chuckling softly, “It’s...very nice in here.” 

“Thank you. Daphne was supposed to be here today,” she says, glancing up to him from where she was retrieving his ticket, “but she had a personal matter to tend to. Are these flowers for a partner?” She asks casually, and Alistair almost flounders at the notion, but the florist clarifies, “For the card. I can write a little message to attach.” 

Alistair lets out a breath and nods, “Oh, these aren’t for me - I mean, I just placed the order for a...friend, he couldn’t find the time to come out.” Again, he knew that Cullen had plenty of time to head down and place an order for flowers, “I am, unfortunately, very single at the moment.” He drums his fingers on the counter some, feeling awkward and a tad bit stupid. Natural disaster - this whole thing was just one big hurricane, swooping in and making a mess of things. 

“Very interesting.” The Orlesian lady hums, more to herself than to Alistair, “I’ll just leave the card to the side for your friend to finish, then?” She suggests, to which Alistair nods in agreement. He looks around the little shop some, and internally cringes yet again when he sees the stupid post card rack. 

It’s a beautiful arrangement, and it isn’t as...large as Alistair was imagining. He thanks the redhead, accepting the vase of flowers and the card, heading back to his car. He sighs, looking down at the, admittedly, really pretty flowers, but they’re all the duller because he missed his opportunity. He doesn’t know what to do with them either, so he sets them in the passenger seat and buckles them up, hoping that the seat belt isn’t crushing anything too awkwardly. 

He plucks up the little piece of stationery from the center console, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. Pulling his phone out, he types in her personal number, debating whether or not he should actually text her. 

Alistair groans, running both hands over his face, “You’re an _adult_ , you can talk to pretty people.” He says, to no one in particular. 

Picking his phone back up, he types, “Hi! This is Alistair, is this Daphne?” then erases it, because it was obviously Daphne, but she probably didn’t even remember him. He then types, “Hi, Daphne, this is Alistair from your shop. I knocked over the card rack, remember?” He audibly groans at that one, erasing it yet again, and tries once more, “Hey, is this Daphne? This is Alistair, from Andraste’s Grace? I think you gave me your private number on the back of your card😅.” He doesn’t send that one either, instead turning his phone off and tossing it in the cupholder. 

“Maker’s breath, you are absolutely inept at this.” He chastises himself, starting his car. He drives off, heading back to Pentaghast and Tethras LLP.


End file.
